


Age Gap

by thesilverarrow



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Massage, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/thesilverarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He'd wanted to dig into Stark's shoulders as soon as he saw the man come limping in and hunch over the worktable, his head bowed over his crossed arms. The problem is, he's never sure how to breach that particular line of decorum, even with someone like Stark who doesn't seem to draw any lines.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Age Gap

Steve slides the bookmark into his paperback, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches Banner staring at him, half furtively.

Steve likes to read in the lab. There are people in and out at regular intervals, so he doesn't feel all alone, stuck inside his own head. For the most part, though, it's pretty quiet in there, just the steady whir of a bunch of gadgets he doesn't understand and Banner murmuring to himself as he scribbles equations on one of those white not-chalkboards.

Of course, there are also the times when Stark makes an appearance, and it's far from quiet. Like today, when Banner's thinking and figuring got interrupted by a grimy, overheated, groaning Iron Man, back from some inadvisable mission. He'd dripped sweat all over Banner's work table while telling a long and winding story about his exploits, only to end in a question about physics that neither of them could adequately answer. Banner had turned his attention back to his board when some of their S.H.I.E.L.D. support staff came ambling through to hear Stark tell the story again. Banner has only now turned that attention back to him, albeit subtly.

As much as Steve enjoys Stark's company, he's still growing used to the frankness of twenty-first century people, so he's more grateful than he can say for people like Banner who seem to take his origins into account when they talk to him. But sometimes -- and maybe this is that three quarters of a century creeping up on him much faster than he would've thought possible -- sometimes he finds himself impatient for people to just say what they're thinking.

Of course, it's entirely possible he's just spent too much time around Stark lately.

"Whatever it is, Banner, you can say it," Steve says as he hoists himself up on the opposite lab table. "In fact, I'd be glad if you did."

"Yeah?"

"Shoot."

"Okay, then." Banner cards his hand back through his hair. "That one?" He inclines his head toward the door Stark had exited through. "Has an ego."

"Part of what makes him effective, from what I've seen."

"And no one likes to feel…not young."

"Understood," he says with a nod, automatically. But then he thinks a bit: what _is_ Banner talking about? "Okay, no, not understood."

Banner holds up his hands. "I'm just saying, tread carefully."

"With what?" he replies with an easy grin.

When he smiles, he's found that people tend to smile in return, usually without bothering to notice what lies behind the smile. After today, he's relatively sure Stark's no longer one of those people.

Neither is Banner, apparently. He grins at him -- it's a gorgeous smile, too, and way more intentionally mischievous than his own had been -- and says:

"Really, Rogers, if I can tell that you're full of crap, the Emperor of Bullshit won't be in the dark for long."

"What are we talking about here?" he says, keeping his mouth straight, his eyes focused ahead.

But he knows exactly what they're talking about.

It had been all Natasha's fault, really. It was pretty much thanks to her that he'd begun to develop a reputation for having magic fingers. It's less talent than patience -- that and being enough aware of other people to notice someone can use his help.

He'd wanted to dig into Stark's shoulders as soon as he saw the man come limping in and hunch over the worktable, his head bowed over his crossed arms. The problem is, he's never sure how to breach that particular line of decorum, even with someone like Stark who doesn't seem to draw any lines. He doesn't even have any lines drawn with his girlfriend, if rumor is to be believed.

So Steve watched as Natasha settled her hands on Stark's shoulders -- but just long enough to realize those hands, though ridiculously strong, were going to be entirely too small for the job. 

"Hey, Cap," she called out. "How about you work your magic for the old man."

Stark frowned at that description, but he looked up at Steve and said, "Magic, you say?"

"Just elbow grease," he replied, holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers.

Stark raised an eyebrow, and in reply, Steve did, too. Stark just smiled wearily and nodded and lay his head down again.

It was amazing how well the man could hold the attention of an audience despite muttering his story into the table and punctuating it with groans of appreciation for Steve's hands. There was a momentary pause in the massage as Stark joined Banner at the board to talk science for a moment, but when they admitted defeat (temporarily, at least), Stark came right back to where he'd been sitting, and Steve put his hands right back to what they'd been doing.

Long after the major knots were worked out, he continued to dig his thumbs into Stark's shoulders and neck, and he didn't stop even when Stark sat up and began his story all over again for the gaggle of very forward young women who had a tendency to float into the lab when Stark was in it. This time, the story was more animated, his voice and gestures -- and some of his facts -- bigger and brighter. He stood up a few times to demonstrate something, but he always fell right back to his seat, submitting again to Steve's hands.

Once, he made a move to stand up and go across the room to Banner's worktable, but Steve instinctively pressed down on his shoulders, holding him there. At that, Stark looked back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. Steve just smiled. As Stark turned back to face his audience, Steve saw the man's mouth curve into a subtle but palpable grin, one that didn't seem too hard to interpret, given the accompanying twinkle in his eyes. Then again, this was Stark; the man probably flirted like breathing.

When the room cleared, Steve finally took his hands away, suddenly feeling like he'd foolishly let things go on a little too long.

"Better, old man?" he said.

Stark turned to face him. "Very much, Captain," he replied with a cautious smile. Yes, there was no mistaking it -- easy camaraderie pulled tight with something. Longing? A promise, maybe? If nothing else, Stark was no longer looking at him like he was a naïve kid.

Neither is Banner, now.

"What are we talking about?" Banner snorts. "You're not stupid. You're not -- I don't know -- Ricky fucking Nelson either, and no matter what you want to call yourself, I'm pretty damn sure you're a least a little…"

"What?"

"I don't even know what term was in vogue when you were alive, but I'm positive it wasn't…positive. Let's just say that even if he couldn't see your face during that _therapeutic backrub_ , I could."

"Oh, that," he says, sure he's not in the slightest managing to be as nonchalant as he'd like.

"Yes, that."

"Dr. Banner, who are you trying to protect: me or him?"

"I don't think either of you need protecting, but it's never smart to go into a potential -- Jesus, I don't know -- potential _combat zone_ without all the intel you can get."

"Intel?" asks a voice from behind him.

Stark is standing in the doorway, drying his hair with a small towel. It's weird to see him without a layer of grease and grime. He's wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, and he's utterly gorgeous. How in the world Banner could think a thing like their age gap matters at all, he'll never know.

Steve looks at Banner again and smiles as he tosses these words back over his shoulder:

"The Doc and I had a bet going about -- how do they put it nowadays?" He grins wide at Banner. "What team you're batting for?"

"Oh," Stark replies, and Steve turns back just in time to see a wicked smile come over his face. "Me? I'm a versatile player. Right hand, left hand, DH. Mostly a middle infielder, but I've been known to catch, too." Stark waggles his eyebrows. "Back in my varsity days, of course, but I'd say I'm as game as ever."

At that, Banner clears his throat and, grimacing, says, "I'm leaving before you two forget to even bother with the metaphor."

"What about you?" Stark says, dark eyes fixed on Steve as Banner slips out the door.

"Baseball?"

"You do know we're not actually talking about baseball, don't you?"

"You think you modern people invented talk-arounds for…sex?"

"Not a whit. I've probably seen way more Hayes Code era movies than you have. Which is also how I know sometimes it's actually more fun to talk around things."

"And sometimes it's easier not to talk at all."

Stark smiles as he comes around the table, then he hoists himself up onto the counter across from Steve, somehow without ever quite taking his eyes off him. Yes, even this very forward man understands the charm of restraint. The only problem: it's exhausting.

Steve says, "The Doc thinks I bruised your ego earlier."

"You mean how you were calling me 'old man'? It doesn't even bother me when Natasha does it, and you're, like, almost a hundred or something. It's not a thing."

"I didn't think so."

"Then why are you…?"

Steve rolls his eyes at the whole situation, then he gives him a pointed look, trying to make sure he's not being mistaken.

"Ah," Stark says.

"Yeah."

"We're being too obvious."

Steve nods, and though his heart makes a pretty serious leap at this confirmation, he says evenly: "You know, if people already think we're… then we might as well just…"

At that Stark's eyes crinkle up into a playful, unguarded smile. "And what is it we're…?"

"I don't know," he replies with a sheepish grin. "Before I went into the service, the closest I ever got to a baseball field, metaphorical or otherwise, was keeping stats and carrying water."

Stark just nods. "During the war?"

"Not a lot of time for…baseball when you're a super solider fighting Nazis."

"Well, surely you know what, um, _position_ interests you the most."

"What?" he says, feeling so hot under the collar he has to force a casual, playful tone into his voice. "I'm not a good physical therapist?"

"Excellent. But it might be a waste of your talents." Stark sighs, then, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, so this metaphor needs to be put out of its misery, but not before I say this: We've got to get you in the game, son."

Steve laughs. "You'll get no argument from me about that."

"No?"

"We might not've had as many labels as you do now, and we might not've been as open about it, but I wasn't an idiot." Before he can stop himself he adds, "You're just my type, you know."

Now, Stark visibly shivers. His smile is sardonic when he says, "Short, dark, and reckless?"

"Something like that. What about you?"

"Oh, that was a serious question before? Every time I try to pin down my, um, extensive proclivities, something comes along to prove me wrong. I've given up trying. But that's not what you want to know. You didn't ask, so I assume the local gossip hasn't escaped you. No, Pepper doesn't mind my having a good time where I find it, as long as I'm not lying about it, which I don't. She likes you, by the way, so I think we're doubly good on that account. As for the more pressing question, yes, I sleep with men. Very enthusiastically, in fact. Not in ages, but I hear it's like riding a bicycle."

"If it's like that, I'm not sure you've been doing it right," he says in mock solemnity.

At that, Stark slides down off the counter and closes the gap between them. It's funny how much difference a couple of feet can make. Despite the fact that he had his hands on the man earlier, this feels different, no longer a lazy, friendly heat and more a relentless, scorching burn.

Stark says, "That really was one of the better massages of my life."

"Good."

"Are you always that good with your hands?"

"Do you always talk this much?"

"Always," he replies, grinning. "I've been told you get used to it."

He shrugs and says, "Well, I _did_ get used to another Stark, many moons ago."

"I keep forgetting you knew my father." He frowns impressively, then his frown turns to wide-eyed horror. "You and he didn't…?"

"What?" He grimaces in reply. "Not for all the tea in China."

"Good."

"But knowing Howard gave me a certain perspective on eccentric geniuses."

"Oh?" Stark says, letting his hands settle at Steve's waist. Steve feels his face flush.

"Always trust them to know what they're doing, even if you don't."

Stark leans in and whispers against the shell of his ear: "You do realize that the greater part of being a so-called eccentric genius is making shit up as you go along?"

"I had a feeling," he replies, turning his head and catching Stark's mouth in a kiss too sloppy to be brilliant but far too overdue to be anything less than perfect. 


End file.
